


A Cage is Still A Cage

by Shrineofstones



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Medical Experimentation, Moral Ambiguity, Moral Dilemmas, Psychological Trauma, Situational Humiliation, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-14 05:32:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8000371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shrineofstones/pseuds/Shrineofstones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Have you ever considered that you’re just as culpable as ‘they’ are, for what’s happening to me?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cage is Still A Cage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geckoholic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/gifts).



“It’s not right, what they’re doing to you.”

“An interesting thing to hear, from a human,” Subject 849, or at least that’s the designation they’ve applied to her, sighs – leans against the thick glass, watching her tap at various instruments, “especially a human that works in this particular place. Have you ever considered that you’re just as culpable as ‘they’ are, for what’s happening to me?”

“I don’t-!” She snaps, turning to glare at the subject despite herself. Catches herself at the last second, and heaves a long breath as something vaguely akin to a smirk spreads across that long and pale face, “I don’t think I am.”

Subject 849 cannot arch her eyebrow, she does not have eyebrows or – indeed – any hair at all, but her skeptical expression is something to behold.

“I don’t approve of what they’re doing,” she snaps, only remembers to moderate her tone – to make it actively sympathetic – afterwards, when Subject 849’s skeptical expression goes quite clearly bitter in response, “and I certainly don’t indulge in it. All the experimentation, all the fact finding missions, all the _torture_ … I would never.”

“And so you are so much better than them,” Subject 849 says casually, her tone only veering sideways into a sneer at the very last moment.

“I-“

“Despite the fact that you have never once protested my treatment,” Subject 849 continues, the sneer built into her tone growing stronger and stronger by the moment, “never once suggested that there may well be better ways to do things, never once acted to actively stop them. You think that my imprisonment ever since I first crash landed on this little backwater planet is a bad thing and so, despite your inaction and despite the fact that any reasonable creature would think the same thing, you _must_ be the best person ever.”

She tries not to glare, she tries not to snap… But, well, no person has _ever_ found it easy to have their hypocrisy thrown back in their face in such a way, “I think you’re being rather unfair-“

“Am I?” Subject 849 interrupts, her tone suddenly growing as sharp as a knife, “to use the popular human expression: _Bullshit_. You may not be as bad as the hand that holds the knife, or the scalpel or that quite terrible electric prod thing, but you are still a collaborator. And the worst kind of collaborator at that, the type who refuses to acknowledge how terrible they are in favour of stroking their own ego with meaningless platitudes. Do you know what we tend to call people like that, on my home planet?”

“I am not a linguist, so no,” she frowns, attempting to sound icy… But inevitably failing. She may find it hard to confront her own hypocrisy, but that doesn’t mean that she won’t feel ashamed by it when all the evidence is provided, “I cannot act, not so openly. If I did I would inevitably be fired, or worse, and things would get even more terrible for you.”

“Even more terrible than they are now?” Subject 849 asks incredulously, her pale features shaping themselves into an expression so honestly astonished that she half feels like exploding from shame at the very sight of it, “I think you underestimate the psychological effect of being locked in a cage, jabbed with needles all day and then forced to assuage the guilty conscience of one of my torturers. I fear to ask, because we have the concept of tempting fate even on my planet, but _how_ exactly could it get more terrible?”

“A meteor could hit?” She suggests automatically, winces at the glibness of her response the moment afterwards.

“A meteor could hit,” Subject 849 repeats slowly, gives her a look so honestly _disappointed_ that even her mother – who always wanted her to be a dancer, who sobbed actual tears the day she announced she was going to work for the government – would be impressed, “forgive me for rubbing the gr- the _salt_ into the wound a little deeper, but that would quite probably be a mercy at this point.”

“Look,” she sighs, guilt finally driving her to try and make up for all her many verbal blunders in this wonderful conversation, “what… What do you actually want me to do? What _can_ I do, considering my position and your position and pretty much everything around us?” 

“You could ask my name,” Subject 849 suggests sweetly, after what seems like only a second of thought, “for a start.”

…Her name. For some reason, and that only makes her feel all the more ashamed, she never really considered that Subject 849 had an actual _name_. From the moment she crashed, from the moment they dragged her injured form out of the wreckage and locked her away in the cage, she has always had a designation and absolutely nothing more.

She wonders how it would feel, if she only had a designation and nothing more, “okay, what _is_ you name?”

“I could toy with you, and say that it was unpronounceable in English – or, indeed, any human tongue… But luckily, I still feel like being the better creature,” Subject 849- the _alien_ , smirks a touch wryly, “My name is Liri. Liri-A-Vulpe, if we are going to be completely and utterly formal about it.”

“And I’m-“ she grinds to a halt, gulps. Waits, tentatively, until Subject- until _Liri_ sighs softly and waves her hand for a continuation, “Doctor Judith Drewett. Although, uh, you can call me Jude. You know, if you _want_.”

“Is that what your friends call you?” Liri asks curiously. And, when she gives a slow nod… Only sniffs, drifts back from the glass with a quick return of that faintly sneering expression, “you will forgive me, then, if I refrain. We may have reached some kind of understanding, you may have proved yourself not quite the worst scum that humanity has to offer, but friendship is still a long way off.”

She grits her teeth, tries to keep ahold of her temper as best she can, “and what am I supposed to _do_ , to earn this great boon?” 

“A thousand impossible tasks, each one more soul destroying than the last,” Liri sneers, and gives her that strange disappointed look again – the one that judges her fully, reaches deep into her soul and yanks all the worst bits out, “but seriously? Doing the right thing, for once in your miserable life, and letting me out of this _cage_ would be a good start.”

She hesitates for a long second. Pinned in place, fingers twitching and mind racing…

And steps back, heaves a deep breath through her nose and decides to leave the absurd acts of bravery for another day, “maybe soon, but… But it requires a good plan, and I’m sure you’d prefer me to come up with one first.”

“A plan,” Liri sighs, and settles herself down on the floor of the cage. Long blue limbs settling over themselves, expression of scorn so vivid in her eyes that she half feels like bursting into flame at the very shame of it, “of course. Have fun telling it to my ashes. Let’s be honest, they’ll be the only thing left of me by then.”


End file.
